The Goal of My Life

by Paul Henderson

  He was feared because he could be so mean. Guys really tiptoed around him, just tried to stay out of his way, because if you got him riled up, it could be very dangerous for you. When he first came into the NHL, he went out of his way to beat the hell out of the two toughest guys on every team he faced. He made a point of it, just to tell everyone, “Don’t mess with me,” but it was the Red Wings who finally told him to knock it off because they needed him on the ice, not in the penalty box.

  I was really leery of him after I got traded from Detroit to Toronto. He was notorious for giving it to former teammates – Pit Martin was a target after he was dealt to Boston and then Chicago – but he never gave me one of his infamous elbow shots, a fact for which I am eternally grateful, by the way!

  Gordie did a lot for the game, but he didn’t do anything for players’ salaries. It was guys like him who kept salaries down because money was never a motivating factor for him – he just wanted to play. He never negotiated aggressively, although he could have asked for anything and, as the best player in the game, probably would have received it. Sid Abel, the general manager and coach of the Wings for most of Gordie’s prime years, was his former linemate and a longtime buddy. You’d think he might have told Gordie on the sly at some point that he could have earned much more money, but it was a business, and if Howe wasn’t asking for a lot, well, the Red Wings sure weren’t going to argue too much. I often wonder if some general managers got a bonus from their owners if they found a way to sign a player for as little as possible. It sure appeared to be the case at times, especially when it came to Howe.

  Still, Gordie’s place as one of the best players ever is secure – even though he didn’t get paid nearly what he was worth throughout his legendary career.

  Frank Mahovlich was another great player of a different sort. He was a very thoughtful guy, always introspective and keenly interested in learning. Not your typical NHL player. He always had an inquisitive mind and strong opinions about everything, which sometimes caused him to be a little misunderstood.

  Even though he was an introvert, at times he could be very outgoing and friendly. You never knew which Frank you were going to get. He did march to a different drummer at times – in 1972, he didn’t come with us to Sweden, for instance – but all in all he was a good teammate. He was so talented on the ice, and he had a really heavy shot.

  Opposing goaltenders hated to face him because he could drill a shot and have it past them before they knew what had happened. And boy, when he wanted to turn it on, he could really go. But he struggled at times in Toronto under the intense spotlight and was often unhappy. As a result, he played some of his best hockey outside of Toronto, including a few impressive years in Montreal, during which he helped the Canadiens win a pair of Stanley Cups. He really enjoyed playing there, and playing with his brother Peter must have been very satisfying for them both.

  I remember seeing him in Montreal once after he was traded, and he had the biggest smile on his face as he greeted me. “I feel like a kid again,” he told me. Clearly, playing in Toronto for Punch Imlach wasn’t for him, and getting out of there was the best thing that ever happened to him.

  It did surprise me that he became a senator. But I can tell you that Frank Mahovlich treats that position with the utmost respect, and he does the very best job he can do. Frank is just too honourable a man not to give everything he has to every task he undertakes.

  He was misunderstood often, but I have a lot of respect for him as a hockey player and a person. Still do, to this very day.

  The name Tim Horton is known to many people today because of the coffee-and-doughnut chain. But the hockey player whose name is on those stores was a great one, and one of the strongest men I have ever met.

  He was always doing curls and working on his powerful body. And the stories about him knocking down doors – all true, let me tell you. I’ve seen it happen!

  Tim would have a few drinks and walk around the hotel, knocking on doors, looking to be invited into the other players’ rooms. If he knocked on your door, you’d better let him in or else the door would come off its hinges. He would fire his huge chest against the door and break it down! And, of course, the unlucky occupants of the room would be the ones who had to pay for the damage, so whenever Tim knocked on our door, nobody ever told him to get lost. You did the smart thing and opened the door and let him in!

  His death in a car accident in 1974 shocked the hockey world. I was with him the night he died. It was just after a game at Maple Leaf Gardens, when he was playing for the Buffalo Sabres. Eleanor, Tim, and I were walking back to our cars, which were parked in the players’ parking lot a couple of blocks north of the Gardens on Church Street. With us was George McLagan, who worked for Hockey Night in Canada at the time.

  We said our goodbyes, and hours later Tim was killed when he crashed his sports car on the way back to Buffalo. Eerily, less than a month later, George also died suddenly when he suffered carbon monoxide poisoning in his own car in his garage.

  Both were cases of sad ends to great lives. Tim is still missed, and he won’t be forgotten by those who knew him and his amazing strength.

  There have been many tragic figures in the history of hockey, and former Leaf Brian “Spinner” Spencer is right at the top of the list.

  Spencer was a good guy, but he was also a little different. He had a tough start to his life, and maybe he never got over that, but his brother became a commercial fisherman and a real solid citizen, so it wasn’t all about upbringing, obviously.

  Spinner was definitely off the wall, maybe even a little crazy. Other guys on the team tried to help him, as did I. But no matter what anyone did, he seemed destined to come to a sad ending. He was just a wild man – he couldn’t get himself under control.

  Once, after he had joined the New York Islanders, several of us met up with him in a club, and he had a .45-calibre gun in his jacket. That’s the kind of weapon that could really cause some destruction. Nobody could possibly need to have something like that on them, but Spencer carried it with him, even in public. Once, Spinner’s wife stayed over with Eleanor when we were on a road trip with the Leafs (the players’ wives would often do that while we were away), and Eleanor discovered that she had a gun under her pillow while she slept! She didn’t even seem to think it was a big deal when Eleanor found out; she just thought she needed it for safety and it was a good idea. Eleanor obviously didn’t think it was a very good idea.

  Brian and I played together for a couple of seasons on the Leafs. Spinner was then picked up by the New York Islanders, then traded to Buffalo and later to Pittsburgh. He didn’t have a lot of talent, but he played with great heart and passion and was a good teammate.

  His father made headlines when he tried to take over a TV station in British Columbia in order to get them to broadcast a Leafs game that Brian was playing in. He was killed by police officers in that incident.

  When he could no longer play hockey, the lack of structure that comes with the hockey life caused his life to fall apart. He wound up living in a trailer in a Florida swamp and was charged with murder but acquitted.

  He came and saw me in my office after that and asked me if I could help him find a job. His body was too banged up from his hockey career to do physical labour, but he was thinking of returning to Toronto or maybe Buffalo to try to restart his life. I told him to stay clean and keep away from drugs and I’d try to help, as I had a lot of connections in business and figured I could find him something. I know he also asked Rick Martin and Darryl Sittler for assistance at that time.

  I told him I’d look around, and to stay in touch. But he just couldn’t stay away from certain shady individuals, and about a month after I saw him, Brian “Spinner” Spencer was murdered.

  When he died, the saddest thing was that it didn’t surprise anybody. It really was a horrible shame, but it wasn’t unexpected by any of us, which says a lot about how he was living his life.

  It was hard to understa
nd what was going through Spinner’s head, but I do understand how even a professional athlete, someone who you think has everything going for them, can still be so unhappy. It’s not just true of hockey players, it’s true of anyone who has a lot of success in life. The popular assumption is that success will bring you happiness, or that being wealthy will bring you happiness. It just doesn’t work that way. You have to learn how to handle life, both the good and the bad. And it’s how you handle adversity and success that will define you. We’ll all have success and failure at various points of our lives, and we need to learn how to handle both. Brian just couldn’t handle life.

  I know it’s often difficult. The older I get, the more questions I seem to have about life – and the fewer answers. But over the years I’ve developed a lot more compassion for people who struggle, like Spinner. A lot of people who fall have nobody to pick them up, and unless you’ve walked in someone’s shoes you really don’t know what they’re going through.

  I tried to help Brian, and now I try to help anyone who is in need the best I can. When I used to see beggars on the street, I’d never give them anything, always thinking, Why don’t you get a job and get off the streets? But now I always do. I finally realized that many of these people begging could never find a job because of mental health issues. Eleanor and I now give significant money to charities and will continue to do so. We have been so blessed and fortunate, and we have never regretted helping others who are in need.

  There are lots of reasons why people’s lives unravel, but drugs, alcohol, and abuse are three of the main causes. They were a big part of Spinner’s problems. All I know is that I’ve never met anybody who has said, “Gee, I’m really glad I was hooked on drugs” – or booze, for that matter.

  We tried to help players in our day, and there is even more help available for them now. The National Hockey League Players’ Association and the league are really trying to assist players with problems, and the people who run junior hockey are trying to do their part as well. It’s a different ballgame now; they have some pretty good programs and it’s much, much better than it was when Spencer played. Who knows whether he might have been able to be helped if he were playing in today’s era? People have to admit that they have a problem first, and then ask for help – that’s all there is to it. And a lot of them don’t ask for help soon enough. That was true then and it’s still true today. Whether it’s Brian Spencer or one of the players who have struggled with demons in recent times, you have to want to be helped before anybody can help you.

  Even in the midst of the most pressure-filled games and stressful times, you have to be able to laugh. When you were around a guy like Jim McKenny, you couldn’t help but do so.

  McKenny was – and still is – one of the funniest guys you are ever going to meet. He had the perfect sense of humour and knew the exact time to whip out that wit.

  One time we were in the dressing room of the old Philadelphia Spectrum, and the mood was pretty tense. Back in those days, the Flyers were known as the Broad Street Bullies, and you knew that when you went in to play them there, you were going to get pounded. It’s where the term “Philadelphia flu” comes from, as a lot of players came down with the malady just before they had to play the Flyers.

  We were sitting in the dressing room before the game one night, and it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Our trainer, Guy Kinnear, walked in with some equipment and said, “It’s as quiet as a morgue in here!”

  Without missing a beat, McKenny came right back with a line that had us all howling on the floor.

  “You’d be quiet too,” McKenny said, “if you knew you were going to die in a half an hour.”

  It had us in stitches – probably because it captured perfectly the way most of us were feeling! It loosened us up to the point where we went out and played a great game, getting a rare 4–2 win over the Flyers in their own building. And nobody had to die to get the two points either.

  A well-placed joke or a good line really takes the steam out of a pressure-filled situation. McKenny was one of the best guys for that.

  I’ve seen and played with a lot of great players over the years, but when you think of competitive and intense players, Ted Lindsay would certainly come to mind very quickly.

  His nickname was “Terrible Ted,” and it was appropriate. He was just a little guy really, never weighed more than 175 pounds, but he sure was tough and never took a backward step when he was on the ice.

  I remember one night in 1964 when Ted had come out of retirement after four years away from the game, when we were playing the Montreal Canadiens at home. Ted Harris of the Habs was a tall and rugged defenceman and a good fighter, but that didn’t bother Lindsay. Ted challenged him that night and more than held his own, despite giving away at least three inches and thirty pounds, and he was pushing forty by then! But Lindsay only knew one way to play the game and that was at full blast, all out, even when he was at the tail end of his great career.

  There were a lot of nights where a lot of guys just didn’t want to play against Ted Lindsay, and who could blame them. It helped him to play with Gordie Howe for a lot of his career – a big guy who would come calling if there was any trouble. But Ted played with the persistence of a rattlesnake, took no prisoners, and never feared anybody out there.

  Off the ice, Ted was just a terrific guy, a well-mannered man and gracious as can be. He was a wonderful teammate and one of the great wingers in the history of the game.

  Similar to Ted Lindsay, John Ferguson was as nice a man off the ice as you could want to meet. He was actually kind of shy.

  On the ice, though, look out! Something happened to John when he got out there. His eyes would glaze over and he’d turn into one of the toughest guys you’d ever play against. Without that transformation on the ice, he probably wouldn’t have been the player that he was. And make no mistake about it; John Ferguson was a great player.

  I remember one game against him when I was with Detroit. He came racing around his own net and I saw him coming with his head down. I hit him hard and knocked him flat on his back. It was a clean hit and I didn’t get a penalty, so play continued.

  Well, after the next whistle, just as they dropped the puck, he suckered me with a hard punch! We went at it – and I didn’t win that fight either. That was the way he played – don’t mess with him or he was going to come after you and everybody knew it. He was one of the best fighters in the NHL during his career, so you certainly didn’t want him looking for you at any time.

  He was as tough as they came and played with passion. Few people understood when he quit the game after just eight NHL seasons, but John was smart. He knew that a lot of fighters play a year too long, and that is always a bad thing for fighters. There are always younger guys coming along who are tough and strong and want to prove themselves, so he retired when he knew he should.

  I only knew him as a fierce rival when he played, but then I got to know him very well when he was an assistant coach with Team Canada in 1972. John was a terrific guy, with a keen sense of humour, who really understood the game. He was a very valuable member of our team in 1972 and did a great job assisting Harry Sinden. I remember when we got to Moscow, he came and spoke to me personally.

  “Paul, we need your line to play well over here,” I remember him telling me. “With your speed, we know you are going to do well on the big ice surface.”

  I will never forget him for going out of his way to speak to me before those games. It did a lot for my confidence and really helped me be ready for what was coming.

  He provided me with another great moment many years later when he made a point of telling me how much respect he had for the way I had lived my life after hockey. He was very complimentary, and it meant a lot coming from him.

  John was a real gentleman and an important member of the 1972 team. He passed away on July 14, 2007. We miss him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHEN YOU START PLAYING IN THE NATIONAL HOCKEY League, y
ou sometimes envision how your career is going to end. I certainly didn’t see mine ending the way it did – playing on a team where the owners basically went bankrupt!

  I stayed in Birmingham to play for one more season in 1980–81. It became obvious as we got down to the end of the season that the ownership was out of money. In February, they made the decision to cease operations.

  All of us players came to the arena one morning to discover our equipment was gone – talk about a major wake-up call! That was it for the team, obviously, and it was the end of my playing career as well. I was thirty-eight years old and still in great shape, as I had always looked after myself, but it was time for me to move on and look for something else to do with my life.

  I knew that my days as a top-flight player were over. I still had the skills and smarts to fill a role – I had even turned down an offer to play for the Flames earlier that season – but that wasn’t for me at this stage. As I always did when faced with a significant crossroad in my life, I consulted with Eleanor and came to the right decision for us as a family. That decision was that it was time to walk away from the game of hockey that had been so good to us – for good.

  Some players are devastated when they are cut from teams, especially if they want to continue playing hockey. I wound up quitting when I wanted to, not when somebody else told me it was time to quit, and looking back on it I played eighteen seasons of professional hockey into my late thirties. That’s more than what I had hoped for starting out as a professional, so there was no reason to be uneasy about my decision to retire when I did.

  Just because I was at peace with my decision to stop playing, however, didn’t mean that I was at peace with being out of hockey. Any player will tell you that it’s very hard to replace the buzz you get from being a professional hockey player. Half the fun of the game is in the dressing room, enjoying the camaraderie of your teammates, and you get to do that while playing a game that you love and making a decent living. Hockey is just a great lifestyle, both on and off the ice.